Man in chain
by MarryEllenJunior
Summary: A young man still believing in the goodness of mankind discussing the word "freedom" with his father.


Well, after watching Django unchained (thank you tarantino for this fantastic masterpiece *.*)  
THIS popped up in my mind and don't ask me why...or well...i mean it seems if connor never thought about the future...what he shall probably do XD  
I love commands

ps: no mothertongue and critic is moooooooooosssssssssssst appreciated!

(yepp, it's a little bit older ;-))

_

It was a cold day in Boston and just some few people were on the streets. Two men walked slowly, chafing their hands and longing for a hot meal in a little tavern. None of them was ordinary, neither in clothing nor in appearance. The older one, whose grey hair was covered by a huge hat, wore a blue coat with a golden sign on the back. He did not fit into the image of these streets where normally young women in casual clothes were on their way to fetch their water, or salesman and smiths were quarrelling about a price. He seemed to be more of a blue-blood English man, and did definitely not look like a refugee trying to find his luck in the new world.  
The younger company of the still handsome old man wore a white robe, almost similar to a monk. His bow, the dark hair, the boots surely made by buckskin and his somehow darker tan reminded of a Native American. Almost everyone did stare at these strange men, but they did not mind. Both were tired of their long journey through the woods and their longing for a soft bed and a quiet rest made them ignore the stares.

A strange sound of clinging chains let them turn their heads. And Connor wished he hadn't.  
A group of slaves, all chained, the feet black and blue from the icy snow, was falling through the street. It seemed they were on their way to being sold. Two men rode on white horses, one behind the group, one before, both were surely Americans. Finally as one of the blacks fell the whole group had to stop. The rider from the rear snarled loud and started to shower abuses. Silence suddenly lay down on the whole place. The few people outside walked faster, their heads down, trying to ignore the inhumanity of this scene. The man of the back took his whip, almost bored, into his right hand.

The Assassin moved, but suddenly he felt a cold glove on his shoulder and looked at his father who shook his head and nodded into the opposite direction of this horrible moment.

They went into a backyard. They could hear the screaming and shouting and Connor started to walk back.

"Connor," he heard the low voice of his father.

"I won't run away and abandon them to their cruel fate, just because of you doing that."  
The Native started to run.

There was a tree next to him and the Assassin heard the metal sound of a gun and saw a bullet throwing its way right through the thick bark.

Silence.

The native stood still and watched the smoke out of the whole, the bullet had just formed. He could hear his father's voice again, the old spoke very low.

"You stay, son. Did I make myself clear?"

Connor breathed heavy. Although it hadn't been a severe attack, his body was thrilled and he shivered slightly. When he looked back, he felt the strange urge to wring his father's neck, or hurt him badly.

"What is your problem? I go where I want to go. I am a free man-"

At that moment his father started to chuckle. Connor felt like a child that had asked something really dumb and the adult had to laugh at him.  
The native still stood there and stared, his veins slowly flooding with anger. Finally the British calmed down and flicked truly annoyed. He put back his gun and looked into his son's brown eyes.

"What do you think why I didn't let you go?," the Templar asked gently.

The Assassin did not answer.

"Well," Haytham said and walked through the snow towards his son. "I thought you would have killed them. Correct me, if I was wrong."

Suddenly Connor did not trust his voice, so he just nodded face to face with the blue eyes of the older man who sighed deeply.

"You would have killed them. And then?"

The young man coughed slightly.

"The slaves would have been free if you-"

But the Templar interrupted him.

"Free? Like you? Don't tell me you are free Connor. That's ridiculous."

"What do you mean?" he asked his face blank.

"Do you really think of yourself as a free man?"

The native was bewildered. A bad taste filled his mouth and an angry humming filled his head as if thousand of bees flew around him.

"If you had freed them, some other black birders would have found them and believe me they would have been sold faster than my bullet can miss your head. There is no freedom, neither for you nor for the slaves."

"You're a liar," the young man answered.

"I wish I'd be."

"What do you want?" the Assassin asked.

"I want you to UNDERSTAND that there is NO FREEDOM, NEVER!"

"Washington-"

"Washington seeks power! NOTHING ELSE! Do you really think he cares for your people? Do you really think he wants to free the Negros? For God's sake Connor, WAKE UP!"

"You are just too small-minded because he is no damn Templar! You seem to have forgotten the ones who tried to steal my freedom, the freedom of my people were under YOUR COMMAND! Your people KILLED MOTHER! You just don't want to accept you've failed! That these people in this country have an own mind and have the RIGHT to seek freedom!"

"Oh really? Of course! White men ALWAYS talk of freedom but sell slaves at the same time. Freedom for them is not the topic, boy, I talk about freedom for YOU!"

Both men stared at each other, their breath heavy and white .  
Then the Templar buried for seconds his face in his hands.

"I never gave an order to kill your mother."

"Oh come on. I don't need your pity," the Assassin answered rough. "Or your complaining about that finally WE, the Assassins, have had a little victory."

His father looked at him and Connor has not seen this man so furious as in that moment.

"I do not care for this bunch of idiots talking of freedom. I am just complaining because sooner or later, your people will have no land any more, no place to go, because the whites will settle EVERYWHERE. And to get rid of you, they will force you to became their slaves, hunt you down like animals, because for THEM your people is nothing than HUMAN SCUM, not worth being alive. And when there is no one who can fight any more, if there is no one who can resist any more and when they finally have enough Negros to fund this country, you will be put in special areas, no one can live and you will slowly rot away. In two hundred years if it comes to this country no one will remember you and your people. And I am so ANGRY because I know that you fight for nothing and that soon, you and your children will have NO CHANCE in this world. And believe me or not that fate is nothing I wish to happen to anybody and especially not to you."

It had started to snow.

Silence.

A man came out to put his chicken in their cage. The two men did not mind him at all.

"You are wrong, father."

Haytham's face was blank and pale.

But the young native American stood there fiercely and strong as if nothing can harm him.

"I promise you, that this will never happen. My people will be free and one day there will be no man in chain. I promise."

A dry chuckle left the older man's throat.

"Don't promise anything you can't keep, son."


End file.
